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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27091471">women want me. fish fear me.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevermordor/pseuds/nevermordor'>nevermordor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Gift Giving, Humor, this sounds like crack but i swear it's not crack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 03:14:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27091471</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevermordor/pseuds/nevermordor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Figured this was the best way to get all the ladies to check you out,” Prompto explains as Noctis unfolds the shirt and smooths it out across the table: bright red, a size too big, with a picture of a fishing reel and the words, “Reel Cool Guy” splashed across the chest.</p>
<p>“Hm,” Ignis says.</p>
<p>“Is it sexy or is it sexy?” Prompto asks, grinning so hard his face hurts. He’s waiting for Noctis to groan or roll his eyes. Instead, Noctis is smiling. Just a little.</p>
<p>“You got this for me?” he asks and Prompto realizes, with equal parts horror and utter glee, that Noctis actually likes it.</p>
<p>“I’m gonna wear it the rest of the night,” Noctis says decisively.</p>
<p>“Hm,” Ignis says again, a little louder.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Prompto Argentum &amp; Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum &amp; Noctis Lucis Caelum</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>99</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>women want me. fish fear me.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So like, in Prompto’s defense, it was literally just supposed to be a one-time joke.</p>
<p>Also in his defense, his brain stopped working the exact second the sleek black envelope with the little silver royal crest arrived in his mailbox. He had sat down on his front stoop to read the invitation to Noctis’s birthday party, and then he had read it again, and that was the end of it. No thoughts, head empty. Only birthday.</p>
<p>He spends the entire week leading up to the party floating on a cloud of warm fuzzies. He plans his outfit days in advance, and even takes money out of his savings account for presents. Every time he goes to the fridge for a glass of a juice or a snack, the invitation is there, taped carefully to the door, and just seeing it is enough to make Prompto smile so hard, his face starts to cramp up. And yeah, maybe it’s a little sad and pathetic to be this excited. But it’s hard to care too much when he got invited to an actual party. To <em>Noct’s</em> party.</p>
<p>It’s only when he shows up at Noctis’s apartment building the night of that the warm fuzzies finally start to fail him. Prompto fidgets as the two unsmiling Crownsguard posted at the front door spend several minutes examining his invitation and ID.</p>
<p>“We always gotta do this dance, huh,” Prompto jokes.</p>
<p>One of the Crownsguard, a big guy who looks like he could bench press Prompto with just his pinky, squints at him.</p>
<p>They do finally let him through. He rides the elevator up to the thirtieth floor, checking out his reflection in the shiny door. In his house, while he was getting ready, he looked pretty dope. He wore his favorite shirt and shoes and slicked his hair up and everything. But now, looking at his reflection in the elevator, he just looks pale and kinda wobbly. And also the totally awesome fauxhawk he gave himself earlier is already going limp. Prompto swipes at it carefully, and realizes his hands are sweating.</p>
<p>The bell dings. The doors slide open and he walks out of the elevator and straight into Ignis.</p>
<p>Prompto definitely doesn’t squeak. And his voice definitely doesn’t crack.</p>
<p>“Good evening,” Ignis says calmly, adjusting the sleeves of his suit jacket. Wow. He wore a suit and everything. Prompto should have definitely like. Dressed up a little more. What if the king or somebody is at this party too. Gods, he hopes the king isn’t here. He had kinda been assuming it would just be him and Noctis and maybe some people from school, because Noctis doesn’t really have that many friends, which was stupid, because why <em>wouldn’t</em> it be a huge royalty thing, and here he is, with his t-shirt and jeans and dumb hair. Duh, Prompto. Way to go.</p>
<p>Too late now.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Prompto replies, forcing himself to smile. “How’s it going, Iggy?”</p>
<p>Ignis raises an eyebrow at the nickname.  “Noctis said you had texted that you were on your way up. I thought I’d come and fetch you.”</p>
<p>“Sorry I’m late. Got held up at the door. They had to pat me down. ‘Cause of my huge guns.”</p>
<p>“Your guns?”</p>
<p>Prompto flexes.</p>
<p>Ignis blinks. Prompto feels himself wilt. Months of hanging out with Noctis have not made it any easier, being around Ignis. Prompto’s been trying to be friendly and chill. He really has. And it’s always the same: Ignis as quiet and unsmiling as ever.</p>
<p>“Noctis is in his apartment,” Ignis says mildly, at last. He turns with a brisk nod, heading back down the long hallway.</p>
<p>“Cool,” Prompto says weakly. Warm fuzzies, he thinks to himself. No matter what, Noctis wants him here. He takes a deep breath and then stumbles after Ignis down the hall.</p>
<p>“Promptoooo,” Noct hollers from the couch. He’s already switched on his station without even waiting for Prompto, because he’s a total coward who knows he’d get his ass kicked. He’s playing some racing game with a big dude, while an extremely cute girl with short, dark hair eggs them on. The big dude—Gladio, Prompto remembers—curses as his little car on screen crashes and explodes.</p>
<p>It’s only the five of them, Prompto realizes with surprise. No big snazzy party after all. No suits, apart from Ignis. No guards or security, at least in immediate sight. Just them, and Noctis’s apartment, looking the same as ever, only there’s real food and presents and it’s actually clean for once.</p>
<p>Noctis crosses the finish line and then tosses his controller aside. He vaults over the back of the couch and bumps his fist against Prompto’s. “Glad you could make it,” he says, with that huge, rare smile that Prompto almost never gets to see, even after a whole year of knowing him. And it makes all the warm fuzzies come rushing back, the last of his lingering anxiety melting away.</p>
<p>There’s lots to eat and drink and all of it’s crazy good. The cute girl’s name is Iris and she has an even cuter smile. Gladio is also pretty cool. Prompto’s seen him around and he always seemed like the tall, dark and hulking type. But at a party like this, he’s super chill and friendly. He jokes easily, filling the gaps in the conversation.</p>
<p>After dinner, Noctis sorts through the legit pile of presents, ignoring most of the packages and envelopes and fishing out each of their gifts one by one. Gladio got him a nice leather wristband, for like, sparring or something. Iris got him a collection of stuffed dolls, and Prompto doesn’t give him shit about it at all, because he’s a gentleman and a scholar and also because Iris is right there.</p>
<p>Ignis has two presents: a set of button-down shirts, and also the next five volumes in the current manga that Noctis is obsessed with.</p>
<p>“You’re the best, Specs,” Noctis teases; Ignis inclines his head slightly.</p>
<p>“This is yours,” Noctis says, plucking Prompto’s gift from the pile next.</p>
<p>“You can tell,” Prompto says, “because I had a truck run over it before I got here.”</p>
<p>“Nice touch.”</p>
<p>“I thought it gave it a little something extra.”</p>
<p>Prompto’s actually gotten him two presents too. The real present is still in his bag: a collection of fancy-ish fishing lures, made with real chocobo feathers. Noctis has been talking a lot lately about asking his dad for permission to go on a camping trip soon. If he ever gets that permission—or gets up the nerve to ask—Prompto wants him to be ready.</p>
<p>He’ll give it to Noctis later. Right now, though, Prompto really needs to fuck with him. He bites back a grin, watching as Noctis peels off the wrapping paper to find a crumpled t-shirt inside. “Figured this was the best way to get all the ladies to check you out,” Prompto explains as Noctis unfolds it and smooths it out across the table: bright red, a size too big, with a picture of a fishing reel and the words, “Reel Cool Guy” splashed across the chest.</p>
<p>“Hm,” Ignis says.</p>
<p>“Is it sexy or is it sexy?” Prompto asks, grinning so hard his face hurts.</p>
<p>He’s waiting for Noctis to groan or roll his eyes. Instead, Noctis is smiling. Just a little.</p>
<p>“You got this for me?” he asks and Prompto realizes, with equal parts horror and utter glee, that Noctis actually <em>likes </em>it.</p>
<p>“I’m gonna wear it the rest of the night,” Noctis says decisively and ducks into his bedroom. He emerges, swimming in the shirt, the bright red color making him look even paler than usual.</p>
<p>“Suits you,” Gladio says with a smirk and snaps a picture with his phone.</p>
<p>“Hm,” Ignis says again, a little louder.</p>
<p>Noctis collapses onto the couch and starts up another round of his racing game. Prompto grabs the second controller and Gladio calls third. Noctis beats them easily. He’s got a big, shit-eating grin on his face and he looks so dumb in his oversized t-shirt. He doesn’t look anything close to the cool, composed prince Prompto spent so many years picturing him as.</p>
<p>Prompto likes this version of Noctis a lot better anyway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It's not actually Prompto’s plan for it to happen a second time. The shirt thing.</p>
<p>But then there’s a cold day, halfway through fall semester. He’s late meeting Noctis after school. When Prompto arrives at the bike racks, Noctis is already there, sitting on one of the benches. His shoulders are kinda hunched and he’s staring down at the ground, dragging the toe of his shoe back and forth through the dirt.</p>
<p>So it’s one of those days.</p>
<p>It’s been happening a lot lately. Noct keeps getting pulled out of class for royalty stuff. Sometimes ‘cause he has to go and talk to a bunch of, like, government people, and sometimes ‘cause he has to go and see his dad. Afterwards, Noct gets even quieter than usual, which Prompto didn’t think was possible. His eyes go faraway and he looks so small and so tired. Seeing him like that makes something stick in Prompto’s chest.</p>
<p>He unlocks his bike from the rack. “C’mon,” Prompto says, and Noctis gets to his feet.</p>
<p>The best solution Prompto’s come up with so far is just to wander. Up and down the streets of Insomnia’s suburbs. At least until Noct’s phone starts blowing up with text messages from Ignis, asking him when he’ll be home for dinner. Prompto’s not really sure how much the walking and talking helps. But it feels a lot better than just leaving Noctis alone when he’s like this. Or letting him go back to his apartment by himself. Prompto knows how that feels. It sucks.</p>
<p>So they walk, and he talks. About the history quiz he failed. About how Aurelia Tertia was definitely checking him out during third period. And maybe Noctis listens. They pass the convenience store where they usually get coffee and chips, past a group of their classmates on their way to cram school.</p>
<p>“Arcade,” Prompto points out, as they pass it.</p>
<p>Noctis hums.</p>
<p>“Movie theater,” Prompto says, as they pass it too. “You wanna go on Friday? If you’re free?”</p>
<p>“Sure.”</p>
<p>“Awesome. But you owe me an extra large popcorn after I went with you to that anime movie thing. And licorice. I want chocolate licorice.”</p>
<p>“’kay,” Noctis says. He doesn’t sigh. Doesn’t tell Prompto that he has shit taste in candy. He doesn’t even give that super embarrassing “well, <em>actually”</em> speech about how anime’s an art form or whatever. Just keeps on walking.</p>
<p>He’s somewhere deep inside his own head. Somewhere Prompto can’t reach.</p>
<p>They’re stuck at an intersection, waiting for the light to change. Prompto has run out of things that happened that day and Noctis still isn’t saying anything. He’s digging through his brain for something new to talk about when he notices (out of pure, total coincidence, he would just like to stress that he can’t be held <em>fully responsible</em> for his actions) the giant sporting goods store across the street. “Oh, hey,” Prompto says. “That’s where I bought your lures.”</p>
<p>Swear to gods, Noctis literally <em>perks</em> up at the mention of fishing. “Oh,” he says. “Cool.”</p>
<p>“Also where I got your kickass shirt,” Prompto adds.</p>
<p>For the first time all afternoon, Noctis smiles, resurfacing into himself. “No kidding?”</p>
<p>“Yup,” Prompto says, and then, gripped by a sudden, brilliant impulse (again, not fully responsible), grabs Noctis’s wrist. “C’mon.”</p>
<p>“Where—?” Noctis sputters, but lets Prompto haul him across the street.</p>
<p>The front of the store is all the latest running shoes, and black and silver tracksuits and jackets and leggings, all knockoff designer stuff from the city. Prompto drags them to the back of the store, where they keep the heavy rubber boots and tacky, khaki vests. Noctis hangs out by a display of new fishing rods. Prompto claws through the clothing racks, until he finds the discount section, and possibly one of the worst shirts ever: pink, with the words “WOMEN WANT ME. FISH FEAR ME” in big, bold red.</p>
<p>Noctis takes one look at it and grins. “Yes,” he says at once, because he’s a huge stupid dork and Prompto loves him so much.</p>
<p>Ignis sends his first text message while they’re checking out. By the time Noctis has finished changing in one of the dressing rooms, he’s sent another text, letting them know he’s parked out front. He’s waiting, leaning up against the usual black car, the trunk popped open to help with Prompto’s bike.</p>
<p>“What do you think, Specs?” Noctis asks, pulling back the flaps of his uniform blazer to show off.</p>
<p>Ignis squints at them. He takes his glasses off and cleans them for a long second with the little black cloth he keeps in the pocket of his jacket, and then places them back on his face and squints a little harder. “You’ve bought a shirt, Your Highness,” he remarks.</p>
<p>“I look good,” Noctis says.</p>
<p>“Hm,” Ignis says. He doesn’t say anything else, only takes Prompto’s bike out of his hands to put it in the trunk.</p>
<p>For half a second, Prompto freezes, because he can’t really tell if Ignis is mad. His stomach clenches and he feels weirdly, briefly stupid. But only for a second, because Noctis has flung himself into the backseat and is watching him expectantly. “You wanna study after dinner together?”</p>
<p>“You? Study?” Prompto jokes, and clambers in after him. The engine rumbles to life as Ignis starts the car. Noctis immediately flings his legs over Prompto’s lap, and there’s a brief scuffle before they open their phones and start another round of Kings Knight, and it’s silent again, but it’s a comfier, warmer silence this time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Technically, like. It doesn’t really become a <em>Thing</em> until Ignis makes it a Thing.</p>
<p>It’s at the end of a Saturday afternoon and another long-ass workout session with Gladio. The second they’re done, Prompto collapses, right in the middle of the training room. His legs are straight up jelly after a million ladders and squats and lunges. His hair is soaked with sweat.</p>
<p>“Not the worst I’ve seen,” Gladio says, his hands on his hips, not so much soaked with sweat as he is glowing with effort. Prompto hates him but he’s too tired for a snappy comeback. His brain is also kinda jelly. He sits there, puddling quietly, as Gladio walks off the sidelines to chug one of his nasty protein shakes. Prompto’s startled to see Ignis there too, sitting legs crossed, waiting on one of benches. Ignis looks weird and out of place at the gym in his button-down shirt and thin glasses and leather shoes. He’s definitely not here for a workout. Must be here for Gladio, Prompto figures, so it’s a pretty unpleasant shock when Gladio heads toward the locker rooms and Ignis strides across the court, to where Prompto is still in a heap.</p>
<p>“May I have a word,” Ignis asks lightly.</p>
<p>Prompto’s stomach clenches. He clambers to his feet though, praying he doesn’t smell as bad as he thinks he does. He has a bad feeling about this, but he always has kind of a bad feeling around Ignis. Not much has changed on that front in the last couple years. Other things have been okay. Gladio’s come around a lot, ever since Prompto asked to be trained as a bodyguard. And like, sure, Gladio is still pretty blunt and mean a lot of the time. But he always says what he’s thinking. He’s direct and to the point with his critique, and Prompto can actually <em>do </em>something with that. If Gladio complains about his stamina, Prompto can start jogging regularly at night again. If Gladio makes fun of his arms for being shrimpy (the nerve), Prompto can install a bar in his bedroom to do more pull-ups, or spend hours on the weekends at the shooting range, until his hands and wrists are sore.</p>
<p>Ignis is not like Gladio. He’s polite and watchful. He never offers critique, just remains silent and leaves you to fill in all those gaps yourself, which is great, because Prompto has about ten billion insecurities to fill those gaps.</p>
<p>A wave of misery rises, high and tight in his chest. So Prompto does what he always does when he feels really bad. He makes himself smile. “Sure. What’s up, Iggy?”</p>
<p>“I thought we might have a discussion about you and Noctis.”</p>
<p>This is it. He didn’t make the cut with training. His grades are too crappy. He’s a bad influence on Noctis. Ignis will put his foot down. He’ll go to the king with his concerns, and of course the king will agree, and then Gladio will stop training him, and Ignis won’t let him hang out with Noctis anymore and eventually they’ll drift apart and then when Noct leaves for Tenebrae, Prompto won’t ever see him again.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Prompto says.</p>
<p>Ignis adjusts the cuffs of his tailored suit. “I really must ask you to desist with the shirts.”</p>
<p>Prompto stares at him. “Uh.”</p>
<p>“The fishing shirts,” Ignis clarifies patiently. “With the catchphrases and logos.”</p>
<p>Prompto blinks once, twice. “You…that’s what you want to talk about?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Not about, like…me?”</p>
<p>“No,” Ignis says, a slight furrow appearing between his eyebrows.</p>
<p>“Or about my training?”</p>
<p>“That would hardly be necessary. Gladio is supervising you and has said you’re proving more than capable.”</p>
<p>Prompto sits with that for a moment. It’s the first time he’s ever been complimented by both Ignis and Gladio. It’s kind of a nice feeling. Then the conversation catches up with him again and he remembers that Ignis is still standing there.</p>
<p>“So,” Prompto says, “it’s just that you…want me to stop buying Noctis shirts.”</p>
<p>“The fishing shirts, specifically,” Ignis says. “And yes. If you would.”</p>
<p>“Why?” Prompto asks, stupidly and rather boldly, only because his brain still hasn’t fully caught up with how serious Ignis looks, in the middle of possibly the funniest conversation Prompto has ever had.</p>
<p>“I’m in the position of helping Noctis with every aspect of his kingship.”</p>
<p>“Right,” Prompto says slowly.</p>
<p>Ignis sighs. “That includes making sure that he’s dressed appropriately for his station.”</p>
<p>“And…the fish shirts don’t help with that.”</p>
<p>“Quite.”</p>
<p>“They’re just a joke.”</p>
<p>“I’m aware. And I’m aware of how…truly fond Noct is of them,” Ignis admits, and briefly looks both affectionate and exhausted. “But they cannot continue. Royalty is a complicated thing. It isn’t just a matter of having the qualities necessary to make a good king. It’s also about whether or not his people believe him capable. And part of that, naturally, boils down to appearances. Noctis is nineteen now. He’s been in a highly visible position all his life, but he’ll be under a spotlight of constant scrutiny between both Insomnia and now Tenebrae. In order to be effective at what he does, he needs to present himself in a manner appropriate to that of a prospective king.”</p>
<p>“Dude,” Prompto says — Ignis arches an eyebrow at that. “They’re just shirts.”</p>
<p>“Please understand what I’m trying to say.”</p>
<p>“I hear you,” Prompto says quickly, putting his hands up in surrender. “You’re saying you don’t like them.”</p>
<p>“It’s not a question of whether or not I like them,” Ignis says, not unkindly. “It’s a matter of whether or not he’s putting forth a proper appearance. And amusing as they may be, the shirts in question are not—”</p>
<p>“So you <em>do</em> think they’re funny,” Prompto says.</p>
<p>Ignis gives him a flat look.</p>
<p>Prompto’s hands go back up. “I get it. You don’t want him dressed like that in public, or having people see him dressed that way. Appearances, presentation, yada-yada-yada.”</p>
<p>“Essentially,” Ignis says, with a sort of pleased finality.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The day before winter break, Noctis is scheduled to make a proposal before his father and the council about a project to improve roads and infrastructure across Duscae. Ignis picks them up from school, Prompto in his school uniform, Noctis in his best black blazer and pants. They take the highway, the windows sleek with rain. The ride into the city is quiet. By the time they turn into the long, sprawling plaza of the Citadel. Noctis’s face is several shades paler than usual.</p>
<p>Ignis parks the car by the guard station. “Your notes and your report in full,” he says, handing Noctis a folder. “You’ll do fine.”</p>
<p>“You totally got this,” Prompto adds.</p>
<p>Noctis doesn’t say anything, but he gives them both a tight, quick nod. Crownsguard escort him into the Citadel. Ignis watches them until they disappear inside. “I’m glad you were able to accompany him today,” he says abruptly. Prompto stares at him. Ignis’s mouth is a thin, tight line. He’s worried, Prompto realizes, with a flicker of surprise. He hadn’t noticed, with Noctis a ball of anxiety all the way down to the city, but he’s worried. It’s a weird look on Ignis. It makes him look almost human.</p>
<p>“He’s gonna be fine,” Prompto says, although admittedly, he still doesn’t know much about all the royalty stuff, but he knows Noct is hella smart when he tries.</p>
<p>Ignis nods. “Yes. He will be. He’s more capable than he realizes. Even still. I appreciate you being available to support him.”</p>
<p>“Anytime,” Prompto says firmly. “Plus, if he can survive second period English with Mr. Meridius, how bad can presenting before the state be?”</p>
<p>Ignis looks like he might want to argue that point, but he does that Ignis thing where he folds it up tight and tucks it away, like important documents, like the cloth he uses to clean his glasses. “Indeed,” is all he says.</p>
<p>Two hours later, just as Prompto’s phone hits less than 10%, he spots the group of Crownsguard making their way toward them, flanking Noctis on all sides. Ignis gets out of the car quickly and holds the door open for him. Noctis flings himself into the backseat and the minute the door’s shut again, Prompto piles on top of him.</p>
<p>“Dude, I was about to die of boredom.”</p>
<p>“Guess I made it just in time,” Noctis says, flashing a shaky but sincere grin. That’s a good sign.</p>
<p>Ignis gets back in the driver’s seat. The engine hums to life and they pull back up the plaza, heading out and away from the Citadel. “How did it go, Your Highness?”</p>
<p>“I mean, I didn’t stutter.” Noctis stares out the window. “They wanna have a follow-up meeting about it next week.”</p>
<p>The tense line of Ignis’s shoulders relaxes, just a fraction. “That sounds very promising.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. They liked our idea, Specs, about ways to create employment opportunities.”</p>
<p>“Your idea,” Ignis corrects gently, pulling to a stop at a busy intersection.</p>
<p>Noctis shrugs, as if to make the compliment roll right off him. “Guess you were right, man,” he says, and nudges Prompto with his elbow. “Lucky shirt.”</p>
<p>“Lucky shirt,” Prompto agrees sagely.</p>
<p>“Lucky shirt?” Ignis says, sounding vaguely wary.</p>
<p>Noctis unbuttons his jacket, revealing the black t-shirt that Prompto bought him just last week, featuring the words, “WTF: Where’s the Fish” across the chest.</p>
<p>“Lucky shirt,” Prompto explains. “Figured a good pun would take the edge off. Help give him a boost so that he’d feel more confident during his presentation. That’s tactically sound, right, Iggy?”</p>
<p>Ignis takes his glasses off and massages the bridge of his nose for a long, long time, but Prompto could swear he sees Ignis hiding a faint smile behind his hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s weird seeing Noctis’s apartment so empty.</p>
<p>The gray couch has been swept clear of its many blankets; the manga volumes that used to be permanently wedged between the cushions and jab him in the spine when he crashed on the weekends have all been removed. The coffee table, which has been piled with unwashed glasses and empty ramen cups for as long as Prompto has known Noctis, is clean. The fridge, where he frequently forgot his leftovers, has been emptied out and wiped down.</p>
<p>Noctis’s bedroom still looks lived in, mostly because his entire closet has exploded across the bed and the desk and the floor. Ignis sits at the edge of the bed, folding the clothes that Noctis tosses to him, and placing them in the suitcase at his feet. There’s no room for Prompto to sit anywhere. He lingers in the doorway, watching the two of them work.</p>
<p>“I didn’t think you owned this much stuff,” Prompto says. “Don’t you just have like, one hoodie?”</p>
<p>“I have other clothes,” Noctis retorts lamely. He holds up two dress shirts, side by side, before tossing one to Ignis and tossing the other to the floor.</p>
<p>“It’s important that he have a wardrobe with enough variety, during the initial relocation to Tenebrae,” Ignis explains.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Prompto says. “But like, you’re royalty. Shouldn’t they have enough space for all your stuff?”</p>
<p>“It’ll be a long journey. And there isn’t much room in the Regalia with the three of us accompanying him on top of that.”</p>
<p>“I only get to pick the stuff I really, <em>really </em>like,” Noctis says wryly, tossing aside several t-shirts emblazoned with video game characters on the front. He wrestles with a knot of ties for a moment and then gives up and hands it over to Ignis, who begins working on the tangled mess while Noctis retreats back into his closet.</p>
<p>“Please bring your suits next,” Ignis says. “They should be at the very back. I can roll them so they don’t wrinkle.”</p>
<p>Noctis reemerges slowly from the closet. He doesn’t have any of his suits, only more t-shirts that he lays out atop the mess on the bed. Prompto recognizes the one on top. Bright red. A size too big. “Reel Cool Guy.”</p>
<p>“Hey,” Prompto says, coming closer and pawing through the pile.</p>
<p>There are so many more fishing shirts than Prompto realized. One for Noct’s birthday, every year, since he was invited to that first party. One from Founder’s Day. Several more from the past three Winter Solstices. “I don’t even remember buying some of these,” Prompto admits, with a grin.</p>
<p>Noctis doesn’t return the grin. He’s staring down at the pile of shirts, his expression tight and drawn, and Prompto feels something sink hard in his stomach.</p>
<p>He hadn’t really realized what Ignis meant, ages ago, during that lecture he gave him on royalty and appearance and presentation. But he thinks he gets it now, looking at Noct’s shuttered expression, the way he rubs the hem of the “WTF” shirt between his thumb and index finger for a moment, before quickly crumpling the t-shirt up.</p>
<p>Ignis uncrumples the shirt and refolds it. He folds every single stupid, goofy fishing shirt, careful and neat, and sets them in a small stack on Noctis’s desk, apart from the rest of his closet. “Once you’re settled in Tenebrae,” he ventures, “you’ll be able to send for the rest of your things to be shipped overseas. It’s only temporary.”</p>
<p>“Right,” Noctis says.</p>
<p>Even royalty, Prompto supposes, doesn’t really get a say.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the end, it doesn’t matter what clothes would and wouldn’t have been appropriate to bring to Tenebrae.</p>
<p>The drive back from the borders of former Insomnia is quiet. Prompto’s ears are full of static. He tries and tries to think of something to say, and all he can do is just keep picturing where his house used to be. How Aurelia Tertia smiled at him that one time. Or Mr. Meridius with his bad toupee. How it’s all gone now, everyone’s gone. And Prompto feels himself wither, over and over, sick with fear because he doesn’t know what any of this means, or what comes next.</p>
<p>They pull over to make camp. Noctis gets out of the Regalia first. He doesn’t help unpack. He walks straight toward, and then past the glow of the Haven. The sun’s going down and the daemons are going to be out soon, but Noctis keeps walking, out across the long, sprawling field of tall grass.</p>
<p>Prompto wants to run after him. Wants to call his name. Wants to reach out and grab his shoulder and drag him back to camp. But Ignis and Gladio don’t move, and Prompto can’t.</p>
<p>Noctis stops, at the far edge of the field. The sunset draws his shadow out, long and thin, behind him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They’ve been on the road for five straight hours. It’s still another two hours to Lestallum. Prompto has to pee like a banshee and Ignis, who’s been crushing can after can of Ebony the past couple days, is out of his supply.</p>
<p>“There should be a rest stop, a couple miles up the road,” Gladio says, studying the map.</p>
<p>Rest stop is one way to describe it. There isn’t even a Crow’s Nest, just a big gas station with an attached convenience store, an extremely sketchy truck selling weapons out the back, and one sad looking fruit stand. Ignis spares the fruit stand a wistful glance before he sets about filling the Regalia with gas.</p>
<p>“Anybody wanna check out the shop?” Prompto asks.</p>
<p>Gladio shrugs. He’s already on his phone. He’s been texting Iris non-stop.</p>
<p>Noctis didn’t even get out of the car. He’s sitting in the backseat, his forehead pressed to the window, staring blankly out across the empty, dry prairie and the stretch of road ahead. Noct’s been like that for days. Prompto’s been racking his brain and he doesn’t know how, can’t see any way, of reaching out and pulling Noctis back this time. And it scares him. Worse than the Imperials, worse than the news stories constantly rolling out of what’s left of Insomnia, worse than all the daemons in the world.</p>
<p>Ignis is silent as he hands Prompto his wallet. There’s no reproach about being quick in the shop, no warning about not wasting too much money. There’s only the dark circles under Ignis’s eyes and the brief, silent nod of acknowledgement he offers Prompto.</p>
<p>Prompto thinks about patting him on the shoulder, but doesn’t. He nods back and sees the flicker of tired appreciation from Ignis, and realizes that it’s okay, that maybe they all need a little time for themselves right now.</p>
<p>The convenience store is a lot bigger than it looked from the outside. Prompto wanders up and down the aisles, humming along to the cheap, crackling muzak. He piles his basket with snacks for the road and cans of Ebony, following the smell of lukewarm hotdog water coming from the snack bar.</p>
<p>It’s at the very back that he finds the souvenir section. Prompto flips through the rotating displays of postcards and corny baseball hats and bumper stickers. There’s even a couple racks of novelty t-shirts and aprons and hoodies, brightly colored, polyester, all of them either child-sized or XXL.</p>
<p>And then Prompto finds it: a gray t-shirt, toward the very back of the rack. Something wild—inspiration? desperation?—hits him like a truck.</p>
<p>And that’s it. No thoughts, head empty.</p>
<p>He really can’t be held responsible for his actions.</p>
<p>“Did you find everything you need?” Ignis asks, when Prompto returns to the Regalia. Gladio is finally off his phone. Noctis is perched on the hood.</p>
<p>Prompto places his bag of spoils at their feet. “All that and more,” he says. He hands Ignis a can of Ebony first, to keep him calm, because hanging around him for years has paid off a bit in the strategy department after all. Prompto pulls out the novelty hat that he bought for Gladio next, gray and embroidered with the words “Gym Hair, Don’t Care” across the front. It even has a tiny little barbell for decoration and everything. “This is for you,” he says.</p>
<p>Gladio stares at him, and then at the hat. And then he smiles.</p>
<p>“You like it?” Prompto asks.</p>
<p>“Hell yeah,” Gladio says, tugging it onto his head. He looks completely fucking ridiculous and Prompto will <em>absolutely</em> be getting a picture of him in it later.</p>
<p>“Found you something too, Noct,” Prompto says, and his heart is skittering like crazy now in his chest. He hopes he’s right. He hopes, just this once, that he’s not an idiot.</p>
<p>He unfolds the shirt from his bag and holds it up for Noctis to see. A large, grinning cartoon fish is plastered across the front, a hook in the side of its mouth, the words “Master-Baiter” just below.</p>
<p>“Ah,” Ignis says, sounding faintly mortified.</p>
<p>“It’s perfect, huh?” Prompto asks.</p>
<p>And Noctis laughs. It’s quiet, and it’s small and it breaks a little in the middle, but it’s a laugh all the same. Prompto hands him the shirt and Noctis hold it close and crumpled to his chest, his head bowed to hide his face, looking, for the first time in days, like himself again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Haven where they stop for the evening is just next to a huge lake. The sun is setting as they pull the tent and supplies out of the trunk, the light catching and scattering like diamonds in the surface of the water. Gladio whistles cheerily as he sets up the tent. Prompto struggles to unfold the chairs and Ignis prepares the grill</p>
<p>Noctis doesn’t help at all. He retrieves his heavy galoshes from the trunk, tugging them and his new shirt on, and then wades off toward the edge of the lake.</p>
<p>“You gonna help at all?” Gladio calls after him, with no real edge in his voice.</p>
<p>“Sunset is peak fishing hours,” Noctis yells back and squelches on his way.</p>
<p>The sun continues to sink. Gladio curls up in his chair to read. Prompto heads down to the edge of the lake. He sits down on one of the less moldy logs along the shore, and he snaps a couple nice pictures of cranes at dusk, but mostly he just watches Noctis, standing tall at the center of the still, clear water, his line out to cast.</p>
<p>There’s the creak of wet wood, as Ignis sits down on the other end of the log. At first, Prompto’s not sure what to do or say. And then he realizes that he doesn’t have to say or do anything. Ignis seems happy just to sit with him, and to watch Noctis too.</p>
<p>In the quiet, Prompto can hear the faint chirp of the crickets in the grass, the quiet lap of small waves along the shore. It’s a warm night. The air smells sweet.</p>
<p>“Do you know what the mark of a good tactician is?” Ignis asks him after a while.</p>
<p>“Nah,” Prompto says, “but tell me.”</p>
<p>“It’s being able to embrace defeat.” Ignis adjusts his glasses. “I give up. You win.”</p>
<p>“Win?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Ignis says wryly, and nods in Noctis’s direction. “I think I’ve no choice but to resign myself to the prince’s…eclectic wardrobe.”</p>
<p>Prompto stares at Ignis. This is a really nice moment. The nicest one he’s ever had with Ignis. So he really, reallllly hopes he’s not about to ruin it. “I got you something too. At the gas station.” He leans down to dig through his bag, past the packets of chips and extra cannisters of film. “The had this section in the shop where like, local people could sell their arts and crafts and stuff. Saw this, along with some kitchen supplies. Made me think of you.”</p>
<p>He pulls the apron out and hands it over. Ignis spreads it out across his lap: plain white, a pair of Brussel sprouts with toothy grins clumsily cross-stitched across the front and the words, “Every Day I’m Brusselin’.”</p>
<p>Ignis examines it, his expression blank.</p>
<p>“Do you…like it?” Prompto ventures hopefully.</p>
<p>Ignis clears his throat. “It’s. Fine,” he says.</p>
<p>Prompto offers him a tentative smile. After a beat, Ignis returns it.</p>
<p>Noctis trudges back to camp just as the sun has fully sank behind the mountains, the hem of his t-shirt damp, a large trout dangling from the end of his line.</p>
<p>“I’m starving,” Prompto hollers.</p>
<p>“Took you long enough,” Gladio agrees. “Iggy, you ready with the grill?”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Ignis says, as he finishes tying the strings of his new apron. Noctis is grinning as he hands him the fish. He flings himself into the chair next to Prompto’s and kicks his feet up on the arm. Prompto groans but lets him keep them there. He closes his eyes for a moment, listening to the scrape of Ignis’s knife as he debones the fish and the sizzle when the fish hits the grill; to the quiet tap of Noctis on his phone; to Gladio humming. The fire’s finally caught, and the camp is warm and glowing. When Prompto tilts his head back, he can see the first stars just beginning to appear in the night sky.</p>
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